Part IX: Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather
- On the shores of Gitche Gumee,
- Of the shining Big-Sea-Water,
- Stood Nokomis, the old woman,
- Pointing with her finger westward,
- O'er the water pointing westward,
- To the purple clouds of sunset.
- Fiercely the red sun descending
- Burned his way along the heavens,
- Set the sky on fire behind him,
- As war-parties, when retreating,
- Burn the prairies on their war-trail;
- And the moon, the Night-sun, eastward,
- Suddenly starting from his ambush,
- Followed fast those bloody footprints,
- Followed in that fiery war-trail,
- With its glare upon his features.
- And Nokomis, the old woman,
- Pointing with her finger westward,
- Spake these words to Hiawatha:
- "Yonder dwells the great Pearl-Feather,
- Megissogwon, the Magician,
- Manito of Wealth and Wampum,
- Guarded by his fiery serpents,
- Guarded by the black pitch-water.
- You can see his fiery serpents,
- The Kenabeek, the great serpents,
- Coiling, playing in the water;
- You can see the black pitch-water
- Stretching far away beyond them,
- To the purple clouds of sunset!
- "He it was who slew my father,
- By his wicked wiles and cunning,
- When he from the moon descended,
- When he came on earth to seek me.
- He, the mightiest of Magicians,
- Sends the fever from the marshes,
- Sends the pestilential vapors,
- Sends the poisonous exhalations,
- Sends the white fog from the fen-lands,
- Sends disease and death among us!
- "Take your bow, O Hiawatha,
- Take your arrows, jasper-headed,
- Take your war-club, Puggawaugun,
- And your mittens, Minjekahwun,
- And your birch-canoe for sailing,
- And the oil of Mishe-Nahma,
- So to smear its sides, that swiftly
- You may pass the black pitch-water;
- Slay this merciless magician,
- Save the people from the fever
- That he breathes across the fen-lands,
- And avenge my father's murder!"
- Straightway then my Hiawatha
- Armed himself with all his war-gear,
- Launched his birch-canoe for sailing;
- With his palm its sides he patted,
- Said with glee, "Cheemaun, my darling,
- O my Birch-canoe! leap forward,
- Where you see the fiery serpents,
- Where you see the black pitch-water!"
- Forward leaped Cheemaun exulting,
- And the noble Hiawatha
- Sang his war-song wild and woful,
- And above him the war-eagle,
- The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
- Master of all fowls with feathers,
- Screamed and hurtled through the heavens.
- Soon he reached the fiery serpents,
- The Kenabeek, the great serpents,
- Lying huge upon the water,
- Sparkling, rippling in the water,
- Lying coiled across the passage,
- With their blazing crests uplifted,
- Breathing fiery fogs and vapors,
- So that none could pass beyond them.
- But the fearless Hiawatha
- Cried aloud, and spake in this wise,
- "Let me pass my way, Kenabeek,
- Let me go upon my journey!"
- And they answered, hissing fiercely,
- With their fiery breath made answer:
- "Back, go back! O Shaugodaya!
- Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!"
- Then the angry Hiawatha
- Raised his mighty bow of ash-tree,
- Seized his arrows, jasper-headed,
- Shot them fast among the serpents;
- Every twanging of the bow-string
- Was a war-cry and a death-cry,
- Every whizzing of an arrow
- Was a death-song of Kenabeek.
- Weltering in the bloody water,
- Dead lay all the fiery serpents,
- And among them Hiawatha
- Harmless sailed, and cried exulting:
- "Onward, O Cheemaun, my darling!
- Onward to the black pitch-water!"
- Then he took the oil of Nahma,
- And the bows and sides anointed,
- Smeared them well with oil, that swiftly
- He might pass the black pitch-water.
- All night long he sailed upon it,
- Sailed upon that sluggish water,
- Covered with its mould of ages,
- Black with rotting water-rushes,
- Rank with flags and leaves of lilies,
- Stagnant, lifeless, dreary, dismal,
- Lighted by the shimmering moonlight,
- And by will-o'-the-wisps illumined,
- Fires by ghosts of dead men kindled,
- In their weary night-encampments.
- All the air was white with moonlight,
- All the water black with shadow,
- And around him the Suggema,
- The mosquito, sang his war-song,
- And the fire-flies, Wah-wah-taysee,
- Waved their torches to mislead him;
- And the bull-frog, the Dahinda,
- Thrust his head into the moonlight,
- Fixed his yellow eyes upon him,
- Sobbed and sank beneath the surface;
- And anon a thousand whistles,
- Answered over all the fen-lands,
- And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
- Far off on the reedy margin,
- Heralded the hero's coming.
- Westward thus fared Hiawatha,
- Toward the realm of Megissogwon,
- Toward the land of the Pearl-Feather,
- Till the level moon stared at him
- In his face stared pale and haggard,
- Till the sun was hot behind him,
- Till it burned upon his shoulders,
- And before him on the upland
- He could see the Shining Wigwam
- Of the Manito of Wampum,
- Of the mightiest of Magicians.
- Then once more Cheemaun he patted,
- To his birch-canoe said, "Onward!"
- And it stirred in all its fibres,
- And with one great bound of triumph
- Leaped across the water-lilies,
- Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,
- And upon the beach beyond them
- Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.
- Straight he took his bow of ash-tree,
- On the sand one end he rested,
- With his knee he pressed the middle,
- Stretched the faithful bow-string tighter,
- Took an arrow, jasperheaded,
- Shot it at the Shining Wigwam,
- Sent it singing as a herald,
- As a bearer of his message,
- Of his challenge loud and lofty:
- "Come forth from your lodge, Pearl-Feather!
- Hiawatha waits your coming!"
- Straightway from the Shining Wigwam
- Came the mighty Megissogwon,
- Tall of stature, broad of shoulder,
- Dark and terrible in aspect,
- Clad from head to foot in wampum,
- Armed with all his warlike weapons,
- Painted like the sky of morning,
- Streaked with crimson, blue, and yellow,
- Crested with great eagle-feathers,
- Streaming upward, streaming outward.
- "Well I know you, Hiawatha!"
- Cried he in a voice of thunder,
- In a tone of loud derision.
- "Hasten back, O Shaugodaya!
- Hasten back among the women,
- Back to old Nokomis, Faint-heart!
- I will slay you as you stand there,
- As of old I slew her father!"
- But my Hiawatha answered,
- Nothing daunted, fearing nothing:
- "Big words do not smite like war-clubs,
- Boastful breath is not a bow-string,
- Taunts are not so sharp as arrows,
- Deeds are better things than words are,
- Actions mightier than boastings!"
- Then began the greatest battle
- That the sun had ever looked on,
- That the war-birds ever witnessed.
- All a Summer's day it lasted,
- From the sunrise to the sunset;
- For the shafts of Hiawatha
- Harmless hit the shirt of wampum,
- Harmless fell the blows he dealt it
- With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
- Harmless fell the heavy war-club;
- It could dash the rocks asunder,
- But it could not break the meshes
- Of that magic shirt of wampum.
- Till at sunset Hiawatha,
- Leaning on his bow of ash-tree,
- Wounded, weary, and desponding,
- With his mighty war-club broken,
- With his mittens torn and tattered,
- And three useless arrows only,
- Paused to rest beneath a pine-tree,
- From whose branches trailed the mosses,
- And whose trunk was coated over
- With the Dead-man's Moccasin-leather,
- With the fungus white and yellow.
- Suddenly from the boughs above him
- Sang the Mama, the woodpecker:
- "Aim your arrows, Hiawatha,
- At the head of Megissogwon,
- Strike the tuft of hair upon it,
- At their roots the long black tresses;
- There alone can he be wounded!"
- Winged with feathers, tipped with jasper,
- Swift flew Hiawatha's arrow,
- Just as Megissogwon, stooping,
- Raised a heavy stone to throw it.
- Full upon the crown it struck him,
- At the roots of his long tresses,
- And he reeled and staggered forward,
- Plunging like a wounded bison,
- Yes, like Pezhekee, the bison,
- When the snow is on the prairie.
- Swifter flew the second arrow,
- In the pathway of the other,
- Piercing deeper than the other,
- Wounding sorer than the other;
- And the knees of Megissogwon
- Shook like windy reeds beneath him,
- Bent and trembled like the rushes.
- But the third and latest arrow
- Swiftest flew, and wounded sorest,
- And the mighty Megissogwon
- Saw the fiery eyes of Pauguk,
- Saw the eyes of Death glare at him,
- Heard his voice call in the darkness;
- At the feet of Hiawatha
- Lifeless lay the great Pearl-Feather,
- Lay the mightiest of Magicians.
- Then the grateful Hiawatha
- Called the Mama, the woodpecker,
- From his perch among the branches
- Of the melancholy pine-tree,
- And, in honor of his service,
- Stained with blood the tuft of feathers
- On the little head of Mama;
- Even to this day he wears it,
- Wears the tuft of crimson feathers,
- As a symbol of his service.
- Then he stripped the shirt of wampum
- From the back of Megissogwon,
- As a trophy of the battle,
- As a signal of his conquest.
- On the shore he left the body,
- Half on land and half in water,
- In the sand his feet were buried,
- And his face was in the water.
- And above him, wheeled and clamored
- The Keneu, the great war-eagle,
- Sailing round in narrower circles,
- Hovering nearer, nearer, nearer.
- From the wigwam Hiawatha
- Bore the wealth of Megissogwon,
- All his wealth of skins and wampum,
- Furs of bison and of beaver,
- Furs of sable and of ermine,
- Wampum belts and strings and pouches,
- Quivers wrought with beads of wampum,
- Filled with arrows, silver-headed.
- Homeward then he sailed exulting,
- Homeward through the black pitch-water,
- Homeward through the weltering serpents,
- With the trophies of the battle,
- With a shout and song of triumph.
- On the shore stood old Nokomis,
- On the shore stood Chibiabos,
- And the very strong man, Kwasind,
- Waiting for the hero's coming,
- Listening to his songs of triumph.
- And the people of the village
- Welcomed him with songs and dances,
- Made a joyous feast, and shouted:
- 'Honor be to Hiawatha!
- He has slain the great Pearl-Feather,
- Slain the mightiest of Magicians,
- Him, who sent the fiery fever,
- Sent the white fog from the fen-lands,
- Sent disease and death among us!"
- Ever dear to Hiawatha
- Was the memory of Mama!
- And in token of his friendship,
- As a mark of his remembrance,
- He adorned and decked his pipe-stem
- With the crimson tuft of feathers,
- With the blood-red crest of Mama.
- But the wealth of Megissogwon,
- All the trophies of the battle,
- He divided with his people,
- Shared it equally among them.
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